


The Vigil

by donutsweeper



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, The Yuletide Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 05:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter waits.  And worries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Vigil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarahbritishface](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sarahbritishface).



Agents had been hurt before on Peter's watch. It was the nature of the job. And while the white collar division didn't tend to have the gunplay and explosions that some of the others had, it was still law enforcement; they still tracked down criminals and they still had to dodge bullets upon occasion. Or not dodge them.

Peter rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the stubble there, rough against his palm, but dismissed it as unimportant. As unimportant as his rumpled shirt that still bore a crusty splatter of blood.

Damn it, Neal.

Neal wasn't an agent. He didn't know firearms; Peter wasn't even sure he'd ever even_ handled _a gun. Which was ridiculous. Peter should have insisted he have some sort of training. He should have taken him to the range. He should have taught him how to hold a pistol. And he should have made it clear who was the agent and who was the consultant. And certainly, if nothing else, he should have taught him when to stay away from an armed and dangerous suspect!

The morning's events played out in his mind again, as they had for hours, like snapshots, in a constant loop of concern and self-recrimination.

Hawkes sensing the set up and running.

Jones blocking off the north exit and radioing that Hawkes had gone into the stairwell.

Running down a hall only to have a door burst open and smack into him.

Falling. His gun flying out of his hand.

Looking up and seeing Hawkes pick up the gun and bring it up.

Hawkes about to fire when Neal came out of nowhere with a tackle that would have put a linebacker to shame.

The gunshot.

It had been chaos after that. Jones and the others rushing in. Hawkes being dragged away in handcuffs. Neal. Swaying on his hands and knees. Bleeding. A bullet crease on his forehead. Practically falling into Peter the second Peter had knelt down next to him.

Peter repeating, "It's okay, I got you," over and over until the paramedics came.

That had been hours ago. The doctor had said the tests didn't show anything more serious than a concussion, but Neal still hadn't regained consciousness and the longer Neal stayed unconscious….

 

He sat back down on the visitor's chair next to Neal's hospital bed. Twenty-seven stitches and a concussion. Because a suspect had gotten the better of him and he'd lost his gun.

"Come on, Neal," he said softly, leaning forward and running his hand over Neal's arm. "Open your eyes."

What had Neal been thinking? Taking on Hawkes like that?

_Saving your ass, _a small voice in Peter's head said.

Peter found himself clutching Neal's hand. "You have to wake up, Neal. I'm not letting go until you wake up."

Neal would wake up soon. He had too. And Peter wasn't going to move from his side until he did.


End file.
